Strands of Bronze and Gold (26 page)

“Your groom, Garvey, has been bothering Talitha—one of the maids—with his unwanted attentions, and I said I would help. Would you please order him to leave her alone?”

M. Bernard snorted. “I am surprised you continue to interest yourself in the sordid affairs of servants.”

“They are people on your estate,” I said tightly, “and we have a responsibility toward them. Please, I promised.”

“And you have done as you promised. You have asked. And I will tell you that I do not give this”—here he snapped his fingers—“for the dusky beauty’s feigned reluctance to yield to Garvey.” He threw his hands in the air. “But, only for your sake, I will order him away.” He gave a knowing smile—perhaps he thought my concern over Talitha showed I was moving into the role of mistress of the abbey, in spite of my protests.

I thanked him.

And thus I continued my stay.

Garvey’s yellow-flecked eyes, filled with undisguised hatred, met mine as Odette and I passed the stables the next day. So, M. Bernard had told him who had requested the order to stay away from Talitha. I had made an enemy.

For Odette, Garvey reserved a lecherous leer and the stroke of his hand down her arm. She blew him a kiss. I grabbed up my skirts and surged briskly ahead toward the woods. They had no respect, to behave so in my presence.

Although Garvey was good-looking in a vulgar way, he exuded
loathsomeness. Odette was either desperate for masculine attention or she must have considered him an unusually entertaining lover. Nauseating image.

Odette caught up with me, now scowling furiously.

“Why do you encourage that vile person?” I asked, not expecting an answer, since Odette had only the once spoken English to me.

“I have use for him,” she said shortly.

When we reached the wall, she pulled her shawl under her chin and said, “Be quick. I am cold.” She had probably been hoping I had given up such jaunts.

I planned a hasty visit to Anarchy. When the sharp and spiteful wind ripped at my mantelet and shot up my skirts, I briefly considered putting on her heavy cloak, which I carried in a drawstring bag over my arm.

A melancholy weighted the air. The autumn colors had moldered away, the branches stripped and the earth deep in sodden leaves. Fallen trees, which had been sweetly swathed in tall grasses and wildflowers earlier, now lay exposed, their bark peeling and their rotting innards black, like so many decayed corpses.

As I made my way toward Anarchy’s hut, I absently braided and knotted the narrow ribbons at my belt. Round and round went my disordered thoughts, with never a conclusion and never an appropriate action step.

“Something setting your mind all a-jumble, honey?”

I jumped. “Oh, it’s you,” I said, and laughed weakly at my jitters. “I was actually coming to see you—I’ve brought you something. But what makes you think I’m troubled?”

Anarchy had slipped up from behind. She was wrapped in a
moth-eaten shawl and clutched a burlap sack bulging with pecans in one hand. She put the other one firmly over my own hands to quiet them, then untangled my ribbons. With her chin, she gestured toward a stump. “Set down there and tell ole Anarchy everything.”

“Where to begin?” I said, sitting on the edge. “I hardly know.”

“Begin with what’s got you a-fluttering the most.”

“Monsieur de Cressac has asked me to marry him,” I said in a low voice.

“That so? And what you be telling him?”

“I said no, of course. He pretended to accept my answer, but he didn’t really. He’s certain I’ll change my mind.”

“You scared he try to
make
you marry him?” Lines creased between Anarchy’s brows.

“Not by force. At least I don’t think so. But he intends to
obligate
me into it. He’s given me so much. And not just me—my family as well. He acts as if it’s only a matter of time until I relent.”

Her frown deepened, pulling her skin tighter across her cheekbones. She looked up at the treetops. “Listen to this baby, thinking she might owe this man her own self.” Now she fixed me with her eyes. “If he a nice man, and if he really cares for you, why you feel squashed under the doodads he give you?”

I considered this. “Squashed” was an excellent word. “I wouldn’t,” I said finally. “I’d feel grateful, but not squashed. You’re very wise, Anarchy.”

“Uh, uh, uh. Uh, uh, uh. The good Lord make me so old I know lots of things.”

I scooted over on my seat and patted it so she could sit beside me. She dropped her sack and lowered herself rustily.

“My family comes tomorrow,” I said, reaching down to replace some of the pecans that had rolled out of her bag. “My two brothers and my sister.”

“Why? Why he let them come? The way he sound to me, he like to keep you to hisself.”

I began fidgeting with my ribbons again until Anarchy lay her gnarled hand on mine once more. “I don’t know,” I said. “He must realize having my family here will only distract me from him.”

She shook her head. “He plan to get some good out of it for hisself. His kind always do. He show them his fancy house and his fancy doodads and he say, ‘See what a fine man I be,’ and they shrink all teeny tiny and tell you to marry him. That be his plan, sure ’nough.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” I said slowly. “That might well be the effect he’d have on them. You have no idea, Anarchy, what a powerful nature Monsieur de Cressac has. Well, he shan’t have his way this time, not about my marrying him, anyway.”

“Lil Miss, you set me a-worrying over you. This man ain’t no good. He ain’t never
hurt
you, has he?”

“Not really,” I said, “although I confess—”

She waited, not speaking.

In the uncomfortable silence I had to voice the terrible thought I had never yet allowed myself to explore. “Several weeks ago I found my cat hanging dead in the woods near the abbey. He was an animal Monsieur disliked, and my godfather was in a strange and terrible mood the night before. But no, I can’t believe he could have done such an awful thing.”

“Who else you think done it?”

“Some—some poacher or tramp camping in the woods. Or maybe some bad boys from town.”

“I’d have known if them tramps or bad boys been hanging round. And the only poacher who dare hunt in yonder woods so close to your place be my Anthony, and he wouldn’t never touch no cat. No one else go there on account of the man traps that Mr. de Cressac sets, ’cept the preacher man, and he wouldn’t harm nothing.”

“Have you seen him lately? The Reverend Mr. Stone?” I could not keep the anxiety from my voice.

“No, not for a long while. Sorry, honey. He never come often and he ain’t been to my place since last spring.”

I bit my lip. All I wanted now, I told myself, was to hear that someone had seen Gideon and that he was all right.

Anarchy shook her head slowly. “If Mr. de Cressac be a man who would do that to a little ole cat, you best be leaving this place.”

“I know. I know. And I will. When my family leaves, I’ll leave with them.”

“You do that. Now, what else got you fretting?”

“Well, there’s Charles—he was a footman at the house. He was good to me, and Monsieur de Cressac didn’t like it. He’s—well, he’s very possessive of me, so he exiled Charles out to work in the fields. I worry about him there, especially since it’s my fault he was sent away. He’s not made for that sort of labor. I need to fix things, but how?”

“Well, if Mr. de Cressac so jealous, he won’t like it if you ask for this Charles to come back, so that won’t do no good. Next thing you know, Charles be hanging in the woods ’stead of the cat.”

I gasped and started to say that was ridiculous, but I couldn’t.

“So … you got any money?” Anarchy asked.

I held up my empty hands, then dropped them. “No. Not a penny.”

“Uh, uh, uh. ‘Not a penny,’ you says. Folks think I is poor, but I rich compared to you. I got a hundred dollars saved up in my secret place, more’n half what I needs to buy my grandbaby. Now this Charles, he a young man and trained good, so he probably fetch about two thousand dollars.”

Two thousand dollars. Such little value for a man’s life, yet even that was out of my reach. I would gladly give back all the “doodads”—at this moment I hated all the “doodads”—if only I could assist Charles. “There might be a way.… I know there are people who help slaves escape to the North.”

“You got connections?”

“No, but I think I know someone who does.”

“Can you get to the person you think you know?”

“I don’t—no, probably not.” My head dropped.

She patted my knee. “Sometime you got to accept you can’t do nothing about some things right now and stop a-worrying till you
can
do something.”

“Have you yourself considered helping your family escape rather than trying to buy your grandchild?”

“I done told you I don’t want to leave this place, and neither do Anthony and my grandbaby. This our home. I only wants my grandbaby’s freedom papers so’s she can come live here with me.”

I rubbed my forehead with worry and frustration. I couldn’t help even one person.

Anarchy nudged my shoulder. “When you leaves the abbey place
for good, is you gonna write your preacher man? Let him know you is free?”

My eyes widened. “Why, yes. Yes, I will.” A warm little stream of hope trickled through the coldness inside me.

The old woman stood now and hefted her sack. “How about you come back to my place and eat some hot coon stew and sweet potato pie. Anthony brung me a nice fat coon yesterday.”

“It sounds delicious,” I lied. I could never eat an animal with a black mask and tiny hands. “But no thank you. I need to get back.”

“You sure your kin come tomorrow?”

“I’m sure. Oh dear, I almost forgot!” I snatched up the bag. “This is for you. For these cold days.”

Anarchy undid the strings and pulled out the gray woolen folds of the cloak.

I helped her place it around her and snugly tied the cord beneath her chin.

“Uh, uh, uh,” she said, shaking her shoulders. “Why, if I won’t be finer’n frog hair in this. I be the finest and warmest old woman in these here woods! I thank you.”

Impulsively I gave her a soft little hug, afraid of crushing her frail bones.

She snorted. “Don’t they know how to give no one a proper squeeze up Yankee way?” She gave me a hard, fierce hug that took my breath away.

“Thank you so much for everything,” I whispered when I could speak again.

“You take care, lil Miss. Don’t you be alone with that man. And
you knows the way to ole Anarchy if you needs anything. You think you don’t got nobody, but you got me.”

“I do know the way, and thank you again.” My voice shook a little.

“Have a blessed day, child.” She winked and left me.

There was a spring in my step when I turned to go. How could I have forgotten that as soon as I left with my family, I could write to Gideon? I could tell him exactly what had transpired, and we’d have to court through letters, but then we would marry. He could find a church somewhere far away from M. Bernard—perhaps out West, which everyone said was the way of the future. I smiled. My daydreams could well be reality in a few months; I had only to leave Wyndriven Abbey.

The next day I anxiously awaited my family’s arrival. I hadn’t seen them in six long months. I had begged M. Bernard to allow me to meet their coach in Memphis, but he refused.

“No, I think not. Mrs. Duckworth requires your help with preparations. I must go to Memphis myself on business; therefore, I shall fetch them.”

Despite M. Bernard’s words, all Ducky let me do was select flowers from the orangery for Daphne to arrange. I flitted from bedchamber to bedchamber watching the maids airing feather beds and fluffing up bolsters and polishing mirrors and fitting the rooms with every comfort. I placed books my siblings might like on their bedside tables, bowls of oranges on their bureaus.

Talitha approached me as I laid out one of my own dressing gowns on Anne’s bed for her use. She shut the door behind her.

“What is it?” I asked when she stood looking at me.

“Garvey.”

“He’s bothering you still?”

“He say he don’t care what Master tell him. He say he can do whatever he wants ’cause he know too much about Master, so Master won’t dare do nothing.”

“Perhaps M. Bernard has had devious business dealings and Garvey has knowledge of them. I’m so sorry, Talitha. I did try.” I placed my hand on her arm. “You’ve got to get away from here. You and Charles both. Please trust me. I can’t do much, but I’ll do whatever I can. Maybe—maybe I can get a message to Charles next time I visit the plantation.”

“We be going there on Christmas Day. I can talk to him myself.”

“You can take my good, thick boots for walking and my black velvet cloak. I’ll give them to you right now as a gift.”

“And how I explain to the others why I got them? No, I won’t take them now, but I get them right before I leave. If I leave.”

“I’ll try to think what else I dare give you. And you know—at least I’m quite sure—it’s the Reverend Stone in Chicataw who will help you.” A pale spark of pride shot through me. Gideon would know exactly how to care for them.

She nodded.